


Getting to Know the Girl

by iulia_linnea



Series: The Verges and Variations Cycle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has a secret which forces his hand when his father raises his against Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolegomenon

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to Good Enough to Be Getting on With. Originally posted on 3 October 2003 and completed on 23 October 2003.

Hogwarts' Potions master was enjoying his last few hours of privacy before the start of yet another term when he found his concentration rudely interrupted.

"Professor Snape," said a voice that belonged to a student who should not yet have been present at the school. The note of hysteria in it was new to Snape, and _that_ was why he left off working on his anti-apparation potion and turned his attention to Draco Malfoy.

The boy was not alone. Cradled against his chest was the unconscious form of a young girl with disheveled black hair. She was wearing ill-fitting clothing and looked familiar to Snape, though he could not place her. Draco looked as though he was about to drop the girl.

"Merlin's beard, Draco! Who is this person and _what_ has happened to her?" Snape demanded, striding toward his student to help him support the girl.

Taking her into his arms, Snape realized that she was not as young as he had initially believed; her clothing, gummed with blood and dirt, had hidden her development, and then her fringe fell back as he adjusted her head on his right shoulder. The scar stood out like a blood-red rune against the bruises on her face. 

"Who— _how_? Is _this_ —what happened?" he spluttered, not, in that moment of shock, caring at all how he sounded.

Draco sank to the stones. "Please help him, please help him, please help him . . . ."

Carefully examining the face of the girl, he realized that there was no mistaking the matter: Harry Potter had become a _Harriet_ , Draco Malfoy seemed to _care_ about this fact, and Severus Snape did not know what to do about _either_ situation.

Unbidden, the thought came to him that, in female form, Harry looked nothing at all like James. _And isn't that an improvement_?


	2. Chapter One: The Blessing of Education

Severus had not begun to feel uncomfortable about Harry's transformation until later the night following it when he realized that the duo of Draco and Harry was far worse at stirring up trouble than was the usual Gryffindor trio of troublemakers.

"Hello, Luscious," Harry said, rolling up off of the carpet onto which she had apparated at Draco's feet, across the floor, and to a kneeling stance between Lucius Malfoy's thighs. 

"If it isn't Cleopatra," Lucius responded dryly.

Draco flared his nostrils in amusement. "Happy birthday, Father. Surprised?"

"Indeed, we are _all_ surprised," Snape said from his position by the fire.

The elder Crabbe and Goyle snickered and put down their drinks, wanting to be ready for whatever came next. Snape put down his book and stood up, also making ready.

"Explain yourself, boy," Lucius commanded, while glaring at Harry.

Harry, registering the elder Malfoy's distrust, slowly drew her hands back over his thighs and settled them on her own, bowing her head.

"You didn't think I'd actually defy you without reason, did you, Father? I've been planning this present for such a long time."

"Our lord wanted Harry Potter dead, Draco. You will need to answer to him for your insolence."

"But Harry Potter _is_ dead, isn't he? This," Draco said, as he crossed the room to grab Harry by her hair and pull her up for display, "isn't _Harry_ Potter, _is_ it?" He let the girl fall to the floor. "Stay down," Draco ordered as Harry attempted to kneel again.

Snape allowed his features to form the appearance of approbation, and Crabbe and Goyle issued snorts of approval. For his part, Lucius was beginning to think he might _not_ have to kill his son.

_And wouldn't it be tremendously satisfying to have the use of the girl savior as my pet_?

Draco hazarded a step closer to his father. "I apologize for not telling you what I intended to do, Father. It's just that I wanted . . . I wanted you to be . . . _proud_ of me. And when you made to kill Potter, I saw that I might never have a chance to show you what I was capable of. I'll submit to whatever punishment you think appropriate, but please . . . _don't_ send me away."

Draco's voice cracked almost into sob on "away," and Snape became even more alarmed than he already was. He had been hoping that the boy was playing some game here, a stalling game at the end of which several Aurors might appear to arrest Lucius and the others, but it really _did_ seem as if the boy was in earnest.

_Why_ else _would he leave the safety of the school after betraying Lucius_?

Without taking his eyes off his son, Lucius said, "Well, Severus, it seems that we may have been premature in condemning my son."

"It would seem so."

"But how do you suppose he knew where to find me?"

"That's easy—"

"Silence!" Lucius commanded, standing up and stepping over Harry's prone form. "I was not addressing _you_ , boy."

"Perhaps the young Crabbe or Goyle?" Severus suggested.

"I didn't tell my boy where you were hiding," Goyle said indignantly.

Crabbe said nothing.

"Well?" Lucius asked, looking at the silent man.

"Vincent knew I'd be seeing you tonight, but he doesn't know which safe house—"

" _Crucio_!" roared Lucius, and then, in a low, conversational tone—his voice just audible over Crabbe's choking screams—he said, "I'm rather disappointed in your lack of discretion, old friend. What _will_ Lord Voldemort feel about it, do you think?"

"Lucius, do not kill him. Despite his carelessness, he serves a purpose."

"Always the pragmatist, eh, Severus?"

Snape inclined his head. Lucius retracted the curse. 

"Goyle, would you be good enough to get our _useful_ friend home?"

Goyle, who had gone quite pale, quickly helped Crabbe up from the floor and apparated out of the room.

"Bullies are so biddable, aren't they? And how biddable, I wonder, are little would-be heroines?" Lucius asked, turning to look down at Harry.

"Another pragmatic suggestion, if I may?"

"Oh, Severus, you're about to spoil my fun, aren't you?"

"This doesn't concern you!" Draco said, only to find himself sprawled on the floor from the impact of his father's fist.

"You will remain silent. . . . What were you saying, Severus?"

"Albus won't be content to wait for the Ministry's attack orders if you harm his favorite, and that would force our Lord's hand prematurely. The . . . _gift_ notwithstanding, perhaps there are other uses more _appropriate_ for the girl—at least, for _now_."

"You really think she can be made to work for us?"

"Lucius, your son seems to have done an excellent job beginning her training. I would be happy to complete it. I do supervise _some_ of my detentions, you know."

Lucius laughed. "And you were concerned with that mudblood-lover's lack of trust in you, weren't you? But his favorite, well, what might his favorite be in a position to learn that you could not?"

"Exactly," Snape said, allowing himself to feel a frisson of relief. _We may yet survive this._

"But what shall we do about my boy," Lucius asked, reaching down to pull his son into a standing position.

"Father—"

Lucius caressed Draco's reddened left cheek with a checked gentleness. "Yes, what _will_ we do with my boy?"

Severus successfully fought the urge not to be physically sick or to rip the other man's arm off his torso. "I should get these two back to the school before someone notices them missing, Lucius. I need to know how it is that Draco has accomplished _that_ ," he said, indicating Harry, "before I can continue her . . . education."


	3. Chapter Two: The Curse of Reflection

One hand full of blond hair, and one hand full of black, the Potions master hissed at his charges for silence while marching them both back to the castle. To his great surprise, they obeyed him. He reviewed his day, wishing it were over.

_Please help him, please help him, please help him_ . . . . This refrain was all Severus heard in young Malfoy's mind when the boy calmed down enough not to beg it aloud after bringing Harry to his laboratory that morning. He had sat, rocking himself and muttering in his mind, on the stones of the laboratory. Har— _Potter_ Severus had carried to his bed because he could not keep holding the bo—gir— _student_ and pry sense from Draco at the same time; he had then quietly contacted Madame Pomfrey and returned to the disturbed Slytherin.

" _Draco, did_ you _do this_?"

_The boy gave a hiccoughy laugh. "Daddy was very helpful, too," he answered, lapsing into hysterics._

_He was abruptly brought out of them by the back of his head of house's hand. Severus dragged him off of his feet by the back of Draco's robes high enough that he could look the boy in the eye. "You will cease your blubbering and succinctly explain the situation. Do I make myself clear?"_

_"Put that boy down now, Snape," said a voice with deadly coldness from the door to the lab._

_"I think not, Lupin. I'll thank you not to interfere in the business of my House."_

_"Torture your brats on your own time, Snape," Sirius Black said, stepping into the room from behind Remus Lupin. "Harry's been kidnapped."_

_"And you think I had something to do with that, do you?" Snape asked. He had already placed Draco on his feet, but was continuing to hold the boy so that he would not fall down._

_"Leave him alone, you bastard," a surprisingly lucid Draco spat, suddenly spinning threateningly toward the door._

_Black raised his wand._

_Snape found his own quickly enough._

_This was when Poppy stepped into the room, assessed the situation, and commanded, "_ Accio wands _!" She caught Severus' in her left hand, and Sirius' in her right, and handed them both to Remus, who placed them into his robes without hesitation. "That's_ enough, _boys. Get yourselves to separate corners and tell me where my patient is this instant!"_

_"Potter is in my bedroom, Madame Pomfrey," Severus told her, in a tone not contrite, not subdued, but tractable._

_"What?" yelled Sirius._

_"Don't you dare, Sirius Black," Poppy said with some vehemence from above the tip of her wand. "Whatever it is, Severus had nothing to do with it. He's the one who asked me to come help Harry. You stay right here and let me work." With that, she disappeared into Severus' bedroom._

_There was a brief silence, and then a scream. "Great goblin warriors! Who_ did _this to you, child?"_

It was some hours later when not quite all the interested parties found themselves assembled in Professor Dumbledore's office. Draco, somewhat calmer after the administration of an efficacious potion, had been asked to wait in the antechamber after telling his story.

_"—but everyone knows that Harry's here, and there_ is _no safer place for him!" said Black. "Where could we possibly hide him that's any better? He can't go back to the Dursleys now! There is_ no _way to explain this, there—there has got to be something you can do, Madame Pomfrey_ , please!"

_"I'm sorry, dear, but this is beyond my skills to explain or . . . correct."_

_Lupin's soft growl surprised everyone when he asked, "Correct? What's to correct?"_

_"You can't be serious, Remus. We can't let him stay like_ that!"

_Severus would have spoken, but Albus gestured for him to be still._

_"Harry's alive, hurt, but he'll recover_. She'll _recover. What's to correct?"_

_"He can't be left like that, Remus. We can't leave James like that!"_

_It took a moment for Sirius to realize what it was that he'd said._

_With some force, Severus retorted, "James Potter is dead, you idiot. You killed him."_

Before the two men could come to blows, Draco, who had, not surprisingly, been listening to them, burst into the room.

"No, _Professor. The Dark Lord killed James Potter, and he's just as likely to kill Potter's son if you people can't figure out how to save him." He looked around the room, unable to fix on any one person's face. "Don't you understand? My father has been ordered to kill Harry." He then looked directly at Snape. "And unlike some, he's_ never _failed his master."_

Severus sped up, remembering how Draco had rushed from the room, with Poppy at his heels.

Draco allowed Snape to drag him toward the school, remembering how he had found what he needed in the man's laboratory earlier in the day before fleeing the school with Harry. His father, Draco had known, was going to summon Snape that night. And it was quite possible, while Lucius and whoever else the wizard had arranged to have present while planning on how to kill him, that the man might decide that Severus was suspect—Severus, the only adult in Draco's life who had ever treated him as something other than a bit of flesh to be molded and used. He had heard his father ponder Snape's status before, but Lucius had always managed to convince himself that no one could possibly defy the Dark Lord _twice_. Since defying Lucius on the platform, all Draco had thought about was how to keep the two people he loved safe.

_Daddy likes dark-haired little boys a lot better than fair-haired ones, even though he'll take a blond when his preference is unavailable_ , the boy thought before screaming in his head, _No, you_ can't _have him, you sick shit_! _You can't have_ either _of them_!

Snape shook him, and the boy forced his mind to be still.

The Potions master, now untroubled by Draco's thoughts, returned to his own.

He had apparated to Hogsmeade with his charges from a wizarding inn near the safe house where Lucius Malfoy was in hiding, so that he could fire-called Albus in Madame Rosmerta's private parlor.

He learnt that when Poppy had not been able to find Draco, she had set Filch the task of looking for him and gone to check on Harry.

_"She failed to see that, although the child appeared to be sleeping, she was not making any breathing sounds."_

_"Glamour," Snape said to Albus in disgust._

_"Yes, a Malfoy_ gift. _But I do not blame Poppy. She was quite overwrought, you know. She told me that, in her experience, 'children rest wearing the faces of good fairies no matter how disobedient their waking mein might be', but that it was difficult for her to see Harry lying there and looking so troubled."_

_Snape snorted at this report of the nurse's romantic nature. "It's not like you to excuse incompetence, Headmaster," he said, cutting call short so that he could return the brats to the school._

Before leaving Hogwarts for his meeting, Severus and Minerva had gone to the dungeons to privately discuss what was to be done with Harry. The Potions master had insisted that the nurse return his wand.

_"I don't think we can bring Harry up to the dormitory, Severus. He's been traumatized, and it's too soon to subject him to the enquiries—"_

"Enquiries, _Minerva? Is_ that _to which you think the other children will subject Potter?"_

_"It is a difficult situation, of course. Until we know if his condition is . . . reversible, I would like him to remain with you."_

_"That is out of the question."_

_"Surely your dislike of the boy—"_

_"As was pointed out this evening, and demonstrated so dramatically today, Harry Potter is_ not _a boy any longer—however temporary the situation may be—and for that reason alone, it would be inappropriate for . . . Potter to remain in my care."_

_"No one could ever accuse you of—"_

_"Minerva, as you well know, I have been accused of baser acts than the one to which we are obliquely referring." He held up his hand to stop her speaking. "As for my dislike of the_ boy, _it has been forcibly proved to me that Harry is definitely_ not _his father. In any case, you know that I cannot be seen to favor this particular student._

_"Albus doesn't want to risk you, Severus. You know that. You're not going back."_

_They had reached Severus' private rooms. He considered her. "Albus left that choice to_ me, _Minerva, as you well know. And I do not see how this change in the brat will have any effect on my work for the Order."_

_"But the school is buzzing with the news that Draco brought Harry to you for help. By now, no matter our precautions, one of the students will have found a way—"_

_"I'll make it work, Minerva. I_ must."

Severus had handed the Transfiguration mistress a cup of strong tea, and had poured himself a Scotch. The two professors had settled into stuffed chairs by the fire, and drank quietly, gathering their courage. For Severus always felt unsettled before meeting with any of the Death Eaters, and Minerva had to speak to Harry when the effects of Poppy's Dreamless Sleep draught wore off. The girl had remained in the Potions master's chamber with an attending house elf during the discussion.

_"Perhaps this can wait until morning," Minerva had said just before Severus had risen to leave for his . . . appointment. "After all, I'm sure it's best not to wake the child."_

Severus had said nothing. He had already known, then, that Potter would be his . . . guest.

When they at last arrived at the castle, Severus took them Harry and Draco directly to his private rooms. _If only the blasted child_ had _been asleep_ , thought Severus, glaring at Harry. She looked somewhat dazed, but remarkably well, considering what _her_ day had been. _I am_ not _looking forward to this lecture_ , he thought, _because I don't know what to say to the stupid, selfless brats_. He turned to Draco, who looked as though he _might_ speak.

"Draco, you'll take my bed—last door at the end of the corridor through the sitting room. Harry, to your room. NOT A WORD! I want you both asleep within the next ten minutes, or I _WILL_ KILL YOU. _GO_! AND LEAVE THE DOORS _OPEN_!

When the dreadful little sprites were settled, Severus cast restraining wards around their beds, flung his robes and coat over one of the chairs in his sitting room, and fell down into his chair by the fire. He finally allowed the relief he had been reigning in since Lucius had allowed Harry and Draco to leave with him wash over his body. It carried all of his tension away, and his thoughts spilled into the welcoming black drain of sleep.

~*~

Albus Dumbledore stood looking out his windows at the night sky. He hoped his words had been appropriate after the Sorting Ceremony: _As you well know, one of your number has been injured today. I, and the other professors, are doing everything necessary to keep all of you safe. I know that you will keep Harry Potter in your thoughts, and allow him to recover in peace. Everyone is to please refrain from owling home until certain matters are resolved. All of your parents have been informed of this necessity, and they know that you are well. And now I believe that we should eat._

From the looks on the faces of Hermione Granger and the assorted Weasleys, Albus knew that he'd have a very difficult time keeping Harry's friends from discovering what had happened to him.

_How hard should I try to prevent them knowing_?

He wished he knew what Harry would want done, but the child was sleeping in an unused room in Severus' private suite. It had held the remains of exploded cauldrons and other detritus before the house elves had cleaned it.

_Exploded cauldrons_ , thought Albus. He felt momentarily unable to hold any other thought in his head. But soon, he permitted his mind to cast out and seek out the other people affected by recent events.

~*~

In the flat they had shared since the beginning of the previous summer, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were silently holding each other—though Sirius was screaming inside his head. Remus rocked the other man resolutely. _I know this is hard on him, but I won't allow him to hurt Harry_. Sirius needed comfort just as much as Harry would, Remus knew, but Sirius was the adult here. And Sirius was still _himself_. Despite his earlier assertions about Harry being able to recover, Remus wasn't convinced of that fact. _But I've got to keep these two whole, and_ together, _no matter how many near-death experiences they share between them. We're all the family any of us has left._

~*~

Harry dreamt fitfully.

She had awoken with a start as the potion slid thickly down her throat, and she did not need her glasses to see that Draco's wand was pointing at her because it was resting between her breasts. _Yes_ , my _breasts_ , she thought, trying not to giggle.

"Do I need to Imperio you to get you to help me save Severus?"

"Could you _do_ that?" she'd asked, genuinely curious. _Everything is so interesting in this dream._

"Potter, _do_ I?"

"No," she'd responded. "Let's go save Severus, shall we?" She had giggled, then. It was some potion Dream Draco had given her. _He_ is _sort of dreamy, even though he's a ferrety prat. I wonder if he'll want to snog again this semester, the_ shit.

The last thing that Draco had told her before they apparated was, "Dad likes a little introductory drama from his pets, so when I _do_ it, you'll need to really make an impression. Got it?"

No, Harry had not, but she figured she could do it, anyway. She had seen Draco playing with Blaise more than once, though their games were not like the ones in which Draco had described his father engaging. She was glad. In sixteen years, she'd never _heard_ the term "sexual politics," or the very graphic descriptions of it to which Draco had treated her. She began to wake up to get away from this memory, but she was simply too tired to open her eyes. She drifted off to sleep again, wondering, _Who is Cleopatra, anyway?_

"Perhaps Hermione will know."


	4. Chapter Three: Close Enough to Home

Two days later, after what seemed like hours of answering questions about her "condition," Harry found herself publicly praising Number Two on her list of Mortal Enemies.

"—and I can't thank Mr. Malfoy enough for attempting to shield me from the Apparata spell and being sucked into the portal for his pains. He is a brave man who did his best to protect me, and I will _not_ hear him slandered."

Harry turned to Lucius Malfoy on the platform situated in the Ministry of Magic's public meeting green looking the picture of gratitude and adoration. Reporters yelled questions, bulbs flashed, and Harry did not blink as she reached for Malfoy's gloved right hand. _Oh, you're just the most amazing man, the most amazing man_ , ran the forced litany of her thoughts.

"Please accept my sincerest thanks, Sir. I know it would have been the worse for me had you not been there in that clearing to fight for my life and help me escape. I'll never forget what you did that day. I _promise_." With that, Harry leaned into Malfoy's black dress robes and tilted her head up to his cheek, upon which she deposited a lingering kiss.

The kiss looked chaste enough to everyone present. Only Lucius felt the little nip of teeth behind the soft lips of Harry's mouth.

"Hail, Great Caesar," she breathed without looking into his eyes, sinking back down onto the flats of her feet, and turning to face the reporters and their questions again. _Amazing, amazing, amazing_ . . . .

_Salazar Slytherin_ himself _could not have trained her any better_ , Lucius thought, as he stood politely behind the podium exuding an air of magnanimous concern. _Severus is correct. I cannot risk Draco's talents being neglected at Hogwarts. He will transfer to Durmstrang immediately._

Although Lucius knew that he would miss his son, he knew as well that there might yet be for himself an entertainment close enough to home. _Frustrating to have to wait_ , he thought, reminding himself of Voldemort's injunction not to interfere with the Girl Who Lived. That he had not been favored with an explanation for the Dark Lord's change of mind was neither here nor there. _I serve His will willingly. Willingly, I serve Him. I serve His will willingly_ . . . .

~*~

Albus was more relieved than he could say that Black had been prevailed upon to remain away from the press conference. He had promised Sirius that he would apparate directly from the Ministry to the Shrieking Shack at its conclusion, but, as he stood next to Severus watching Harry retching on her knees in Molly Weasley's arms on the road home from Hogsmeade, he was glad he had taken the detour.

"Oh, it was awf—"

"Don't talk, Harry," Mrs. Weasley soothed. "It's going to be all right." The lady's tone was comforting, but the expression in her eyes, which were locked with Albus', was murderous.

The headmaster did not need to look at Severus to know what he was thinking.

Albus sighed. Arthur and Molly Weasley—everyone, really—were furious with him, and rightly so, for allowing Harry to become more involved in Order activities. Unfortunately, the young woman was too deeply enmeshed in matters to be extricated safely, and it had seemed prudent to ensure that Lucius Malfoy would remain where he could be watched.

Sirius' objections had been overcome with more ease than Molly's, and they, by Harry herself. When the plan had been suggested, Harry's godfather had categorically rejected it, refusing to listen to anyone—that is, until Harry's low voice, thrumming with power, carried over the yells of everyone else.

_"You have absolutely no say in any of this, Sirius."_

_The room had gone silent._

"What _did you just say to me?"_

_"You haven't even been able to hug me since . . . Draco saved my life," said Harry, lowering her eyes and clearly struggling to find her words. "You have no idea what this is_ like. _You have no_ right _to tell me to do anything. "NOT," she said, holding up her hand and flickering her eyes to Sirius' briefly, "because you don't understand, but . . . but because I'm sixteen-years-old, now, and that means I'm legally able to make my own decisions. You're still my godfather, but you are_ not _my guardian." She looked at Sirius directly. "Draco and I may have ruined everything_. Please _let me go?"_

_Sirius had rushed forward to grab Harry in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet._

_"We'll continue this after lunch," Albus had almost whispered, rising and leaving the room at once. Everyone had followed except Remus._

At the shack, Sirius and Remus were waiting with Minerva and Hagrid. All of the currently enrolled Weasley children, Hermione, Draco, and Blaise were also found to be in the passageway that connected the shack to the school.

Harry looked terrified to see them, so Minerva sent them flying down the passageway before her with threats of negative house points and "old-fashioned" detentions with Filch. Hagrid got a hug in, and then went after Minerva and the children.

After a brief and edited recounting of the conference, Albus asked, "Molly, would you care to come back to my office for tea?"

She stabbed him with her eyes, but gave a quiet "yes" in answer.

Albus turned to duck into the passageway, expecting Severus to follow him. He did not.

Remus tried to press chocolate on Harry, but she refused. She smiled at him, pulling her head out of Sirius' arms. "I did okay," she said. "I did what Professor Snape said to do, and I think he bought it."

"I believe you are correct," Severus said, nodding his head. _Lucius is certain he owns_ . . . it.

"We should get you back to the school, Harry," Sirius said.

"Wait—please?" Harry asked Severus, who was leaving. "Sirius, would you and Remus mind going on ahead? I need to ask Professor Snape something—it won't take long, I promise. Besides, you need to tell everyone what happened before someone bursts."

Remus chuckled. "Okay, we'll go talk to your friends." He turned to Severus and offered his hand. "Thank you for looking out for Harry, today. We appreciate it."

Severus took the other man's hand and shook it, evincing no surprise at the offer. _Well, Black?_

Sirius was already gone.

_I thought so_. "Yes, Miss Potter?" Severus asked, giving her his full attention.

Harry looked at him for a moment, a stunned expression splayed across her features.

_Damnation_. He had not intended his remark to be cruel. _Well, she'll need to accept it_ sooner _than later_ , he thought, thrusting the sharp edge of guilt from his conscience with a calloused conscious. "Harry?" he prompted in what he hoped would be a kindly tone.

"Yes, Sir. I . . . I want to know . . . ." She turned her back on him for a moment, and drew in a deep breath of air, exhaling it and pulling herself up straighter as she gathered her courage. "How old were you when you did it?"

Now _Severus_ was shocked. He knew exactly what she meant. 

_If she'd asked me this question at any other time_ . . . . But she had not, and today . . . today Severus felt that Potter deserved an answer. "I was seventeen when I took the mark and began my service to Lord Voldemort."

"So—you weren't old enough to know what you were doing, either," Harry remarked, turning to face him again.

Severus caught the smirk from sliding out of his thoughts to dress his lips. "No, I wasn't." _But you don't need to know that Albus_ asked _me to join them_. No, _that would only encourage your ill-advised nobility and over-developed sense of courage further._

"That figures," Harry said, venturing a slight smile and then disappearing into the passageway with quick steps.

_I will_ not _like you, you disrespectful brat_ , Severus thought, following Harry at a measured pace. But it was too late to kill the embryonic kernel of respect for the girl that had taken root in his breast.


	5. Chapter Four: Miserable Lying Idiots

Harry went directly to Snape's suite where she found Draco waiting for her in her bedroom.

"So, was our little session on Roman history of any use to you, Potter?"

She blushed.

He grabbed her and kissed her and threw her away from himself almost as one movement. "Oh— _this_ —I . . . I just _can't_ , Harry," he said, looking desperate.

"Then stop trying, Draco."

"They're sending me away."

"I know. Professor Snape told me."

"That was thoughtful of him."

"Could we just sit down and not . . . fight?"

"That wasn't fighting."

"Can we just lie down?"

"Fine. Whatever you want, right?"

" _That's_ fighting."

"One little mission and you think you know what a fight is?"

"That's not fair, Malfoy, and you promised me not to say—"

"Don't worry. You know I'll keep your secrets."

"How come?"

"Because you keep mine."

It had been agreed that no one was to know that Draco had cast the counter-curse that had altered Harry's sex. "The Change," as the press had taken to calling Harry's transformation, was blamed on the actions of one of Voldemort's minions. This was a lie with which everyone could live, save that Harry knew she would be telling Ron and Hermione the truth because how could she _not_?

They climbed as one onto the bed and wrapped themselves around each other's limbs, and laid silently for awhile.

"Do you ever feel like an old man sitting at the top of a mountain and feeling certain of everybody's doom? Like you know what's going to happen because you've seen it all before, but you're too high above the action to stop the idiots beneath you from falling to pieces?"

"No, Draco. I always feel like I'm climbing the mountain and being pelted by rocks. I never feel certain of anything. I always feel as if I'm about to lose my grip and fall."

"Really? _You_?"

"Yeah."

"Well, at least falling is _movement_. I always feel stuck."

"When will you see your father again?"

"He's coming to take me to Durmstrang this evening."

" _Tonight_?"

"Yes, Harry. Tonight."

"The Professor didn't say it'd be so soon."

"Imagine my surprise. . . . You can't be anywhere near me when he arrives, all right?"

"Draco, I—"

"Promise me, Harry. Promise me that you won't let him see you again today. And that you won't _ever_ be alone with him."

"I'm not sure that I can—"

"Damn Gryffindor bravery, Potter! My father is _not_ a nice man. He's worse than anybody knows. Promise me!"

"I'll try, but only because I lo—"

"No! No, you don't. You really _don't_. You're grateful, and you think that you owe me those feelings because of my going away to be sacrificed to Durmstrang, and because . . . because I've _touched_ you. But you don't love me, not really . . . do you?"

"I'm not sure if I even like you, Draco."

"Good, because I hate you, too."

"I don't think you hate me. I . . . I don't want you to hate me."

"What's to like? Well, admittedly, the _breasts_ —they're magnificent—but there's the whole good-will-triumph-over-evil-Gryffindor's-do-honor-better attitude to have to overcome, and then there's the Scar of Nobility to ignore, and the need to avoid being splashed with the love everyone pours all over you like you were this neglected innocent in need of an adoration bath, and oh! let's not forget the unblemished, creamy skin to overlook, the dazed expression in your eyes after I kiss you to disdain, and that _noise_ you make when I put my hand on your— _fuck_!" Draco spat, rolling away from Harry and onto his back.

"Come back, you drama queen. I'm cold now."

Draco turned and grabbed Harry, and pulled him up on top of himself. She gasped as their bodies met.

"Potter, remember something: I'm _not_ a nice boy. I _don't_ love you. I'm _obsessed_ with you. I want to _be_ you so badly that if I could slice you open and use your skin to hide in I'd _do_ it. And Lucius will do whatever it is he pleases to you if he can, and your best interests will not be foremost in his mind." 

With that, Draco pulled Harry's head down to his own and kissed her hard enough to bruise. He bit her, too, sharply enough to draw blood. 

"Don't _ever_ be alone with him," Draco ordered, shoving her head back and glaring at her. " _Promise_ me. _Now_."

Harry licked her lips tentatively. Her expression was glazed. "That _hurt_ , Draco."

"But you liked it, didn't you?"

"No—no! I didn't," she said, angrily, throwing herself off the bed. "I _do_ hate you, you miserable prat! I _do_ hate you."

"Good. Work with that. Don't forget it. And stay away from my father."

Harry stood at the foot of the bed, clenching her fists. Suddenly, Draco laughed.

"Harry, come back to bed. I'm freezing."

She threw herself at Draco without hesitation. He arranged them both under the covers and cradled her until her breathing quieted, and his silent tears had ceased to fall.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I won't be alone with him. I promise."

Draco snorted. "Good girl."

Harry shuddered, and buried her head more deeply against his chest. Soon, she was sleeping soundly.

"That's my girl," Draco whispered. He then climbed out of bed, wrapped Harry's arms around the pillow on which he had been laying, and favored her with one final look before taking his leave. "Aren't _we_ just both miserable lying idiots."

~*~

Professor Snape was standing outside of Harry's door when Draco opened it and walked out. He looked up just in time to avoid colliding with the man. Snape said nothing, but gazed inscrutably at the boy, who remained frozen in place.

"I won't . . . I won't tell anyone about what I know. You can depend on that."

Draco would have walked away, but Snape stopped him. "Draco Malfoy, you are _not_ your father, nor are you his . . . property."

The boy flinched.

"You will not hesitate to contact me if it is required."

"No, Sir. Of course not. Thank you," Draco replied automatically. . . . "Just take care of him. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing."

_Not many of us do, boy_ , thought Snape, extracting a small chain from his robes and handing it to Draco.

"Sir?"

"This is a charm that renders its wearer . . . unnoticeable. If you wear it, people will see you as you exist, but will not be inclined to . . . interfere with you."

Taking the charm with a shaky hand, Draco said, "Please, I . . . you need to see Harry. I may have . . . she's bleeding," and then he walked quickly away.

Severus watched him go, noting that, as the boy reached the end of the corridor, he carefully placed the chain around his neck.

_You're welcome._

~*~

Harry was wrapped around pillows on the bed, looking disquieted, and yes, she was bleeding about the mouth. Severus tried not to think about what had gone on between the two "children," and pointed his wand at the girl and whispered a healing spell. _There you are, Sleeping Beastie, all better now._

The Potions master cum dorm-father looked around the room. It was furnished with a standard-sized bed upon which red curtains were hung, though mercifully without the Gryffindor emblem, a desk and chair, a trunk, and an armoire. All of the furniture was made of dark wood, and there was a soft-looking black carpet on the stones of the floor. Harry's bits and pieces were scattered about, and Severus found himself wondering if he shouldn't find and confiscate the girl's invisibility cloak for safe-keeping. _No, make that for_ burning. He sighed, knowing that this would be seen as an act of war by Black, about whom he was worried enough without provoking. 

Severus had decided that Harry _should_ remain with him after Black's recent displays of . . . temperament, and then, only for the sake of Minerva. _Because the brat's welfare is not really my concern_ , is _it_? But one did like to maintain good relations with one's colleagues if it could be helped, and surely this situation would only be temporary.

"You'll find a foothold soon enough, I'm certain," Snape whispered, as he cast one more protective gaze over Harry's sleeping form, and then shut the door. 

A half a second later, he cracked it open the smallest bit. 

A half a minute later, he returned from the small kitchen he kept, and sprinkled flour on the floor in front of Harry's door.

_Try to sneak off now, I dare you._

A half an hour later, it occurred to Severus that one of the _other_ members of the Trio might have the damned cloak, so he left his comfortable chair by the fire and put yet another locking spell on the door to his suite. And then it occurred to him that Harry probably had not eaten, that Albus might bring Sirius and Remus down to see her.

_And what would it look like if I were found in child-proofed quarters_?

He'd just gotten the flour swept up when he heard Harry stirring in her room. She whimpered slightly, presumably at finding Draco missing.

_Oh, gods—what if she has nightmares?_

Minerva owed him a bottle of Scotch.

_No, a case—no! a bottle from the nineteen hundred fifty-nine Glenlivet Cellar Collection. That should only set her back about three thousand, four hundred, seventy-nine pounds._

As a galleon equaled roughly three pounds, Severus felt Minerva was getting off lightly at having to pay only one thousand, one hundred sixty galleons for a colleague's peace of mind.

There was a knock at his door. When Severus opened it, he discovered one dour black dog, Remus Lupin, and Albus. Lupin was holding what appeared to be a bottle of sixteen-year-old, single-malt Lagavulin.

_Who would have ever accused a wolf of subtlety_? thought Severus. _Or taste_. But, as it was past time for a drink, he accepted the bottle with the semblance of grace.


	6. Chapter Five: Foolish Wand Waving

Severus woke up because he heard, quite clearly, a spell being put to an improper purpose.

_Has Harry changed back? Are there . . . problems_? he thought, throwing on his thick, green bathrobe and well-worn leather slippers before padding down the corridor to her room. 

He stopped short of entering it, as the door was cracked. Harry was standing in front of the long mirror that Severus had felt prudent to install in her chamber—teenage girls _required_ such amenities, it seemed—and she was pointing her wand at her head. 

" _Extendere_!" she said, with some force. " _Extendere_! _Extendere_! _Extendere_! . . . Damn it, Blaise, I know that I'm saying it right!"

_Is Zabini_ in _there? No, he_ can't _be. But what does Harry think she's about casting_ that _spell_?

"Well," came Zabini's ingratiating drawl, "Perhaps, due to your special circumstances, it's going to take a little _longer_ to work."

" _Accio sneezicus root_!" Severus said softly, tapping the palm of his hand with his wand. 

A yellow phial floated toward him from the direction of his lab. Suddenly pleased that he had confiscated so much of the annoying substance this early in the term, the Potions master opened Harry's door, walked smartly toward the fireplace—something else he had felt needed to be installed—and thrust the contents of the phial at the floating head of Blaise Zabini.

_Professor_ Snape allowed his voice to raise just over the sound of Blaise's choking sneezes. "Mr. Zabini, I expect to see you in my office in twenty-minutes. Is that clear?"

Blaise's head disappeared, and Snape turned to look at Harry. The girl looked thoroughly embarrassed.

"Miss Potter."

"Yes, Professor?" she asked, looking somewhat more delicate than usual in a pair of blue pajamas. They had feet. 

_Perhaps I should do something about the floor._

Harry shuffled her feet in apprehension, and Snape noted that she had secreted her wand.

_That won't do. She's got to learn to keep her wand at hand when being threatened_ , thought Severus. _Oh_ , I'm _threatening her_. "Harry, the spell you were attempting . . . was this some misguided attempt to . . . _restore_ yourself?"

The girl looked confused. "I don't know what you mean."

"Did you think it might . . . never mind. Tell me what it was that you were attempting to do."

Harry flushed and looked down. "I was trying to lengthen my hair," she admitted.

"Why would you want to that? Your hair will grow on its own."

"Blaise told me that maybe people would start treating me like a girl if I looked like one."

"And are you deigning to leave the dungeon at long last?" Severus asked with an automatic sarcasm that he regretted at once when Harry looked stricken. It was not as if the brat's company had been _entirely_ unwelcome. 

The girl had not left the suite for five weeks, and had refused to see anyone except Sirius, Remus, Albus, Minerva, and himself. It was not a short list, but a troubling one, as it excluded her friends. But the other day, an owl had come from Durmstrang with a letter in it from Draco, and since then she had seemed more interested in what her friends were doing. Admittedly, it was a surprise to find that she considered Blaise to be one of that number, but then, she had shared an . . . association with Draco.

_And nothing should surprise me after learning that particular fact._

"Am I in trouble? I didn't know that I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone."

"Of course not."

"I'm not allowed to talk to anyone?" Harry said, turning from contrite to cantankerous almost at once.

"Of course you may speak to your friends, Potter."

"Oh."

"Harry, why were you using the Extendus spell to lengthen your hair?"

"Because Blaise suggested it."

"Am I to understand that he suggested that _particular_ spell?"

"Yes, Sir, but I wasn't having much luck with it."

"No doubt that is because the Extendus spell was not meant to be used on the _hair_."

Harry's fading blush re-bloomed over her face and down her slender throat at his words. Tears welled up in her eyes.

_Do_ not _cry_! Severus willed, before quickly asserting, "I am certain that Mr. Zabini was unaware of this fact. In any case, it is late, and you should be sleeping."

"Yes, Sir."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I should not worry too much about your looks if I were you. When you are ready to see them, I do not think that your friends will have difficulty distinguishing you from a boy."

Before he could stop her, Harry had favored him with a blinding smile and an impulsive hug.

"Yes, well—no more of this foolish wand waving, and take yourself to bed this instant!" Severus said, completely discomfitted.

_I am going to_ shred _that wretched boy_.

~*~

Moments later, Snape found Blaise standing at attention in front of his office.

"Mr. Zabini," he acknowledged the boy in funereal tones. 

"My most _sincere_ apologies, Professor. I was just trying to amuse myself."

Snape murmured the password to his office and gestured the penitent to step inside. "Then I am very happy for you, Mr. Zabini."

"Sir?"

"Your desire for amusement shall be most thoroughly indulged as you complete your detention by receiving extra tutelage from Professor Binns."

"For how long, Sir?" Blaise asked, his confident expression sliding into the corners of his mouth.

"Until you have memorized every salient detail of the Great Goblin Wars."

Blaise shuddered. There were few things other than boredom worse for him, he had found.

"Will that be all, Professor Snape?"

"No, Mr. Zabini, I think not."

"Ah, you'd like me to apologize to Ree."

"Who? Oh." _What a ridiculous nickname_ , Severus thought irritably. "You will do nothing of the kind. Miss Potter has no idea that you were making fun of her. Is it your intention to continue that behavior?"

"No, Professor. I was just teasing her. I wouldn't really hurt her feelings."

"Excellent. I am certain that Mr. Malfoy would be pleased to hear that sentiment expressed from all of the students. Unfortunately, I am convinced that Miss Potter will find it very difficult when she returns to a regular class schedule."

Blaise considered his head of house for a moment. "Perhaps I could be useful in preventing such difficulties, Sir."

"See that you are, Mr. Zabini. . . . _Good night_."

~*~

Remus sighed and scratched Sirius' ears. He'd been taking to his dog form whenever he felt great strain. Usually, the werewolf did not mind this behavior; he had even encouraged it.

_But today it would have been nice to have some two-legged back up_. "Your godfather and I—"

"Remus, I'm a _girl_ now, _not_ blind or stupid. I know that you're um . . . a couple, and that's okay."

"Because you're gay, too?" he asked gently. 

Since receiving Severus' recent letter, he and Sirius had been trying to figure out a decent way to ask the question. Finding none, they'd just come to see Ree and hoped for the best.

"Not anymore."

"You don't still like boys?"

Harry blushed. "Sure I do, but I'm not gay. 'The Change', remember? You and Sirius are the only deviants in this family now," she said, grinning.

"Do we need to talk about anything?"

"I know all about getting pregnant."

"How about _not_ getting pregnant?"

"I can't."

The black dog whined a bit.

"What?" Remus asked, momentarily alarmed. "I thought that you were intact."

A strange look flickered in Harry's eyes, and she looked away.

"Ree? Are you okay?"

"I meant," she said, with some effort, "that I can't get pregnant because Professor Snape taught me how to make a potion to prevent it."

Remus sat up straight. "And do you _need_ such a potion?"

"Do we _really_ have to talk about this?"

"WHUFF," snuffled Sirius.

"Apparently so," Remus affirmed.

"'Member how Justin Finch-Fletchley lost 30 points from Hufflepuff after the first Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Yes."

"Grrr . . . ."

"Well, it's because he was . . . um . . . talking about how he and I had . . . done things—which we _had not_. I just kissed him _once_ , and he wanted— _never mind_. I don't want to talk about it. I haven't . . . I mean, this is none of your business, damn it! _No_ , I don't need the ruddy potion! _Neville_ wouldn't even shag me now!"

Sirius materialized off the floor into himself to tower over Harry. " _Explain_."

Harry burst into tears. "It's all Blaise's fault. He told everyone that if anyone had sex with me their . . . well, they'd fall off just like mine did—which it _didn't_ —but that's what Zabini said, and everyone believes him. He follows me everywhere and chases everyone away," she finished, crying harder.

Sirius burst out laughing.

"WHAT'S SO FUNNY?"

"Then why did ol' Sevvie teach you to make that potion if no one will touch you?"

"Oh, you're HORRIBLE," Harry yelled, running out of the room.

A door slammed seconds later.

"Nice way to put that," Remus commented.

"Damn it, Remus! I don't remember being this hormonal."

"That's because you're in sad possession of a feeble, canine brain, my love."

"Thank _you_ very much. _Why_ did we decide it was necessary to have this conversation with her?"

"Because, up until recently, Ree's health was in peril from the glut of Quann's Quad-Chocolate Bon Bons with which the boys were gifting her. I wonder how Severus managed to stop all that nonsense and start the new batch of it?"

"Cocks falling off _is_ a serious business . . . ."

Remus tried and failed not to chuckle. "It might have deterred me, I admit. "Perhaps Zabini simply wanted to clear the field?"

"Possible. But Snape _did_ teach Harry the potion. He must have had a reason."

"Nice of you to assume that he wasn't trying to humiliate her."

Sirius started to say something and then thought the better of it.

"He's taken prodigious care of our girl."

"I know, Remus."

"So I think maybe you should stick to 'Professor Snape' instead of 'ol' Sevvie' in front of Ree."

"One slip, one slip in months!" Sirius exclaimed, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"True enough, but I think it's one slip too many. Ree's awfully fond of Severus, now."

"What?" the other man exclaimed, spilling coffee over the lip of his mug and burning his hand.

Remus stood up, found a towel, and began drying off his lover's hand after taking the cup from him. 

"She feels safe with him. He's familiar. And he's been treating her as if nothing has changed."

"That's all true."

_Well_ , that's _an improvement_. "So I was thinking . . . ."

"Something horrible, no doubt."

Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius, who was leaning against the counter of Snape's tiny kitchen. "Let's invite Severus to Christmas dinner. I don't think he has any family to visit, and it might make Ree feel better if he was around when we open the house again."

After months of work to remove all traces of insane angry house-elf, darkly magical objects, deeply ingrained dirt, and bloody-minded portraits, Sirius' house was almost ready to be more than a secret headquarters. Albus had insisted on defraying some of the related expenses, as Sirius needed time to recover after being attacked last year, and Remus had his hands full seeing that he did. Being short on money, and too worried about his family to feel any wounded pride over the matter, Remus had simply accepted access to the Gringott's account the Headmaster had offered. The preparations had taken longer than expected, what with Harry's transformation, Order missions, and, well, _Sirius_ issues, but it had been worth it.

Sirius hugged Remus back, hard. "So what you're saying is that it's time I grew up."

"It's past time, really."

They looked at each other in understanding.

"Agreed," said Sirius.

"And you'll be good?"

"I thought you liked me better when I solemnly swore to be up to _no_ good?"

"Save that for later, you mutt—go apologize to Ree."

"I'll go talk to _Harry_ ," Sirius told him.

_Baby steps_ , thought Remus. _Baby steps_.


	7. Chapter Six: Cookies, Jam and Other Sticky Situations

Hermione knocked once on Harry's door and walked into her bedroom before the other girl could say anything. 

"What's wrong, then? You nearly bolted out of the kitchen."

"I don't know. I guess I'm just not convinced they got everything, is all."

"Come _on_ , Harry, Sirius and Professor Lupin worked on this place for _ages_. It's cleaner than my parents' office!"

"Your parents have trouble with instruments biting back, do they?"

"You're just _adjusting_ to things. It's not like you're used to having a fam—"

"You've been dating Ron too long, I think."

Hermione looked guiltily at Harry. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put my foot in it, but maybe this is just . . . too much all at once for you?"

"What is?"

"You know—your own room in a house with . . . with family. I guess Sirius and Remus are your family, right?"

Harry tried to shake the odd feeling she had been having since she arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Even though it was not so grim anymore, she had felt . . . watched since she had arrived—perhaps even before that. It was disturbing. 

"Of course they are. But you know," she said, trailing a hand over the end railing of her oaken bed, "I do have my own bedroom at school—and I had one at the Dursley's, too, even if it had been Dudley's. I don't know why this should feel so different."

"This one's permanent, mate," said Ron, standing in the doorway. "So, is there weird girl stuff going on, or can I—"

"Really, Ron. You're _so_ sensitive!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry flushed. She still was not sure how to react to Ron. _He's awfully tall—no! Gross! He's your best friend, you disgusting git. What's wrong with you_? Lately, Harry's thoughts tended toward the blue no matter what boy she was looking at, so she'd tried not to look at Ron, and Ron, for his part, had kept his attention squarely fixed on his girlfriend. _I wish_ I _were somebody's girlfriend_.

"—and that's why Charlie's wrong. Whaddya think?"

"What? Oh. Oh, you're right, Ron. You should tell him so."

Ron looked incredulously at Harry. "But I just _was_ telling him. Are you even listening to me? It's not like you to blank out during an important conversation," he finished, looking suspicious. "You okay?"

Harry looked to Hermione for help.

"Quidditch," she mouthed.

"Oh, good grief!" Ron said, catching the look that passed between Harry and Hermione. "There _is_ weird girl stuff going on in here, isn't there?" He backed off the bed onto which he had so recently settled. "I guess I will go explain to Charlie, _again_ , why Floridale Floggus shouldn't have been traded to the Chudley Cannons. He's an ex-Slytherin for one thing . . . ."

"Bye, Ron," Hermione said pointedly.

"What did he mean by that Slytherin crack?"

"You have to ask?"

"I told you. Professor Snape _isn't_ trying to eat my brains for breakfast!"

"I think it's more of a problem with Malfoy . . . ."

"Draco saved my life, Hermione."

"Draco did more than that, Harry, and Ron knows it."

~*~

"—and I'm convinced that the boy was mis-sorted, Albus," Severus finished derisively.

"Did he really," Albus tried to ask, but couldn't for laughing, "did he really say that? In public? In front of his friends? Oh," and then dissolved again into deep chuckles.

Albus, Severus felt, could be excused this excessive and undignified display of mirth. Minerva was resting comfortably after having been attacked in the Forbidden Forest. She had been part of a patrol sent into the woods after odd figures had been reported lurking there. Nothing had been found, but an unconscious and badly scratched Minerva in feline form had been carefully brought to Hagrid's hut by Fang. The witch had insisted, however, that Albus make an appearance at _Molly Weasley's_ Christmas.

"Yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchley's loquacity as a prelude to osculation is now a legend among his house."

"Oh, I don't know, Snape. 'Your eyes are the windows to your soul, here is the key to my kingdom' isn't the worst line I've ever heard," Sirius said with amusement." He refreshed Severus' tea, and then asked, in a darkened tone, "Still and all, do we need to kill him?"

"Sirius, a word with you, please?" asked Remus from the sink.

"Duty calls."

Albus took another Christmas cookie off of the dish in between himself and Severus. "These are delicious."

"Mmm."

"So, do we need to . . . counsel that young man about his behavior, or was Ree's refusal adequate?"

"Really, Albus. I'm not sure how to close the jam pot now. I'm _not_ a nanny. I've taken points for Mr. Finch-Fletchley's lack of . . . decorum, and I believe that it is clear to him that he is currently my least favorite student. Much more than that, I am not permitted to do."

"You and Argus, always longing for those oft-discussed "old days," hmm? Ah, but Mr. Zabini's solution was far more creative than hanging by chains."

Severus snorted. "Mr. Zabini, of late, has become something of a history aficionado."

~*~

"You _can't_ wear that to the party. _Honestly_ , didn't Mrs. Weasley teach you _anything_ when you went shopping?" Hermione asked in exasperation.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Harry. She was holding a crimson dress robe of rich velvet, the bodice of which was constructed of elaborate gold embroidery. The sleeves fell away in trailing trains of fabric, and three small gold frog clasps secured the robe in place. "I think it's fine."

"The _robe_ is fine, but it will swish open if you dance—"

"So I won't—"

"You will move quickly, though, and the robe will open then. You have to wear a decent dress underneath of it."

Harry blushed. 

"You _did_ buy dresses, didn't you, Ree?"

"No," she answered in a small voice.

Hermione went to the door, checked the corridor, and then waved her wand. " _Accio trunk_!"

A small brown trunk floated out of the next room and into Harry's. Hermione shut and locked the door. Opening the trunk, she pulled out two dresses, and smoothed them out over the bed. One dress was crimson, in a crushed velvet. It had a high neckline. The other dress was made from a shiny dark green fabric. It boasted a scooped neckline and when Hermione picked it up to show it to Harry, it fell to the floor making a sound like rushing water.

"This is a taffeta dress. It's a bit _daring_ , but you'll be in your dress robes, so it won't matter. I think it will compliment your hair and skin, bring out your eyes, and look well under that robe."

"It will also . . . _you know_!" Harry said, flustered. "And it's a _dress_!"

"Harry—Ree, you really should dress the part, even if you don't feel it. Besides, Charlie is here, and he's going with you and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. If you look _gorgeous_ , people will leave you alone and let you dance."

"Why?"

"Because pretty girls dance at these things," Hermione said, as if Ministry Christmas balls were usual occurrences for her.

"The red one is more, um, demure?"

"True, but Ron likes me in red," Hermione said, a note of warning in her tone.

"Ah. Okay. Give me a second to change, then?"

Hermione gave Harry an indulgent smile, and efficiently gathered her belongings to levitate them back to her room.

Now alone, Harry gave this dress issue some thought. She knew that she would have to look appropriately formal for this affair at the Ministry, and Mrs. Weasley had been dropping hints about her needing a dress or two for weeks, but Harry still was not certain how to feel about that. She did not always feel as though her brain fit her body. The brain-body disparity was most troublesome when on a broomstick, or when in close proximity to Justin, and she was nervous enough about tonight without wanting to emphasize the one part of herself that would make her the most nervous. She looked into the mirror after struggling into the gown. 

_Hmm_. "I'm still not pretty enough to be a girl, really."

An odd half-tinklish buzzing, almost like laughter, popped into her ear and then seemed to skitter along the ceiling. Harry once again had the uncomfortable thrill in her spine that told her something had been missed during the clean-up.

"Who's there?" she demanded, reaching for her wand.

"It'z fine. It'zzzzzzzz fiiiine," the buzzing voice said.

Harry turned this way and that, searching for the voice. "What do you want? Where are you?"

"I'm right here, Miss Potter," a more familiar voice greeted her.

Harry turned, looked up, and up some more. _Oh, he_ is _tall, isn't he_ , she thought, feeling warm and very confused as Severus Snape smiled down at her.

"How fine you look this evening."

Say _something, you idiot_. "Um, thank you."

Severus continued to smile at her in a silky way, and Harry felt her insides start to liquify and slide down her bones. It was not entirely a pleasant sensation. She shook her head. _The Professor's being awfully . . . courteous. Why_?

"Happy Christmas, _Miss_ Potter."

"And to you . . . ."

Snape's smile deepened, and he walked toward the girl.

"Is that a dazed expression with which you're favoring me?" Snape said, reaching out a hand to caress her eyelids. "Recherché . . . ."

"Oh," exhaled Harry, closing her eyes. Her wand began to slip from her fingers.

"Mmm, and all this pale skin. You really are a gorgeous little girl."

Harry giggled. Snape's fingers felt lightly cool where he touched her, but as the tips moved over her face, an unpleasant sticky sensation followed in their wake. _No, this isn't right_ . . . .

"I have a present for you."

"Yes? A present?"

"Oh, _indeed_. Would you like it?"

With every fiber of her being Harry wanted Severus' present, but before she could tell him so, an intrusive voice from behind her exclaimed, " _STUPEFY_!"

"ZZGO AWVAY!" the buzzing voice retorted inexplicably from Snape's mouth.

His mouth, thought Harry, still fuddled.

The figure of Snape did nothing. Merely looked at Hermione, who grabbed her friend by her arm and shook her, while keeping her eyes and wand on the figure of their Potions master.

" _Ridikkulus_!" said Hermione firmly.

"Hzzz, heezzz," laughed the Snape figure.

"Harry, snap _out_ of it!"

"What? Oh. OH!"

Aware and wand up, Harry took aim at the . . . creature.

"And just what is it that you believe you are doing, Miss Potter? Miss Granger?" asked "Snape."

They both stood up a little straighter, but did not lower their wands.

"You're _not_ Professor Snape," said Hermione.

The Snape figure glared at them.

All of a sudden, Harry laughed. "Nice try, you . . . thing. But I know that glare, and you just don't have it right, does it, Mione?"

"I should say not!"

"You are making a mistake, witchling. I have your prezzzent."

"Again with the buzzing. You're an illusion of some kind, aren't you?" asked Harry, walking around her "guest" to examine it.

"I'm here. Aren't I?"

"Oh, dear," said Harry. "And I see you've got some other things wrong. Our Professor is rather more fit than that," she said, poking the figure in the behind with her wand.

"Ree!" 

"Don't look so shocked, Hermione. I live with the man. He isn't in robes all of the time. And anyway, look at him. He's not right in other ways, too."

A critical interest aroused in her, the other girl examined the creature. "You know, it's too tall, isn't it?"

"Yes. And I don't think Sev—I mean, Snape has silver eyes, does he? What are you?"

The figure blinked at them in annoyance, Snape's features faded, and then his body shrunk upward. With an irritated, "zzzzy" popping sound, it became a tiny, winged, mottled-skinned creature.

"Oh, _really_! How could I have been so _stupid_? I know _exactly_ what you are!"

"What?" demanded Harry, completely surprised.

"It's a Sense Sprite—just a very nasty kind of fairy."

"Yrrrr juzzzt a verry nazzzty girrrl!" the sprite said, flying up to the top of Harry's wardrobe. "No prezzie for you!"

"Fine! I don't want your present. You go away before I squash you!"

"No, Harry! These fairies are summoned to a particular purpose. Someone _sent_ it to you."

Harry glared up at the fairy. "Have you been watching me?"

"Hzzzz, hzzzzz. Szzzztupid girrrl. Yezzz."

A sharp knock sounded at the door. "Girls," called Mrs. Weasley, "is Harry dressed? We're flooing over to the Ministry in moments!"

"We'll be right out, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione responded.

"Shouldn't we tell?"

"No tellzzz, szztupid girrrl! Take prezzie. Open window for poor Zzzzarzza. Pleazzzz?"

"Just open the window, Harry, but don't take the present. It could be dangerous."

At that, the dark pixie came racing from the armoire to attack Hermione. It dove at her again and again, raising sharp red marks on her face. Harry did not think. She grabbed her friend and dove to the floor. Picking up one of the trainers that she had just been wearing, she brought it down on Zzzzarzza as it tried to scratch Hermione again. A sulfurous pop rent the air.

"To Miss Ree Potter, with the most sincere compliments of Mr. Draco Malfoy," said that person's voice from under Harry's shoe. 

When she lifted it up, a delicate golden chain was all that remained of the nasty critter—that, and the _smell_.


	8. Chapter Seven: Dominion and Largesse

The presentations were mercifully short, and soon Harry, having given her scroll proclaiming her to be an honorary member of the Order of Merlin to Mrs. Weasley for safe-keeping, found herself caught up in a flurry of introductions. She was about to manufacture an excuse to get away from all of the embarrassing fuss when a familiar arrogant drawl provided one for her.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you, Secretary Croakes, but Miss Potter has agreed to dance the first of the evening with me."

"But it will only take a moment to intro—"

"Now, now, sir, you wouldn't want to make us late for the opening waltz, would you?" Draco asked.

Harry marveled at how a person could sound charming and threatening all at once, and, despite her irritation at the proprietorial manner in which the Slytherin boy had collected her, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

"I should punch you, Malfoy," she whispered, smiling raptly up into his eyes. She and Hermione had practiced what her behavior should be tonight, and Harry was glad because it helped.

"What on earth for? I've saved you from _that_ rabble," he said, giving Harry's well-wishers a contemptuous glance, "and, if I'm not very much mistaken, that is _my_ Christmas gift around your splendid throat."

"Ever hear of wrapping paper, Draco? What the hell kind of household emissary _was_ that creature, anyway?"

"Nice to see that living with Severus is enlarging your . . . vocabulary."

Harry flushed deeply, but she continued to smile beatifically at him as she "stumbled," causing the tip of her left heel to plunge into the middle toe of Draco's right foot.

"Trust a Gryffindor to make a subtle point."

"And yours wasn't? Just what kind of game were you playing at, sending me some mean little face-changing fairy to give me the necklace?"

Draco sighed and leaned down to murmur into Harry's hair. "My emissary was a _fée de sens_. Such creatures can be bid to do favors in exchange for . . . others."

"Merlin, what did that nasty thing want from _you_?"

"A drop of my blood."

Harry pulled back a bit from Draco to stare at him.

"Don't be so shocked, _Ree_. It was the only way I could contact you. Father is having me watched. I've been forbidden to have anything to do with you."

"What? Why? He knows that you're supposed to have . . . um . . . ."

"Trained you. Broken you. Bent you to my will. Yes, I know. But I also made a present of you to _him_ , and I believe that another _interested party_ 'asked' him to leave you alone, as well."

 _Oh, Merlin, this is all so disgusting_. "So because your father can't have me, Lor—"

"Lower your voice and do not say that name, please," Draco said harshly, but he never stopped smiling, either. "Do you know," the boy said pointedly with a glance at a glowering couple that seemed to follow their every move on the floor, "I think Blaise Zabini is quite taken with you."

"Really?" Harry asked, wondering who the mysterious couple was.

"Indeed. In his last letter, he asked after my intentions toward you. . . . _Laugh_ , Harry," Draco whispered.

They laughed together, and Draco swung them away from the eavesdroppers.

"Who are they?"

"Zabinis. This room is lousy with them. . . . Blaise really would like permission to court you, you know."

"And he asked you about it _why_?"

"Because he knows that you belong to me, Harry."

"No, I don't!"

"No? Is there some sort of arcane rule that says half-breeds are exempt from the binding of a life-debt?"

 _Oh, I_ really _don't like you_ , Harry thought, glaring at Draco, as she dragged him out of a pair of French doors onto a cool, quiet balcony. "The life-debt between us doesn't mean you own me, and you know it," she said, taking off Draco's gift and urging him to take it with a gesture.

"So what does it mean to you?" Draco asked, looking at the chain as if afraid of it. "Put that back on."

"I don't know, not yet—but I do know that whether or not I date Blaise Zabini is none of your concern!" 

She made no move to re-fasten the necklace around her throat.

"And do you want to date Zabini?" Draco demanded to know.

"No, of course not, you git!"

Slightly less angry, Draco pressed, "No, you can't believe your luck? Or no, you're actually turning down _Blaise Zabini_?"

"Yes."

"Harry, 'yes' what?"

"Yes, _no_ , Blaise may _not_ have permission to court me."

"May I ask why not?"

" _That's_ why."

"What is?"

" _You're_ the one doing to the asking. What kind of a spineless twit is he to send you in his place?"

Draco favored Harry with an assessing gaze of approval. "You intimidate him."

Harry snorted in disbelief. "I intimidate Blaise? That's ridiculous." She turned and considered Draco for a moment, pointed her finger at him as if it were a wand, and said, " _Ridikkulus_!"

"Very funny, Potter."

"That's what I thought when your _fée de sens_ called on me."

"Well, I know you like my gift, or you wouldn't have worn it." Draco turned Harry's face up to his own, and brushed her mouth with his lips. "And I know that you like Blaise well enough, even though you never did participate in our evening amusements." 

While saying this, he took the chain from Harry's fingers and dipped a hand into the top of her robe to tuck the gift into her décolletage. 

"You're a tease," the girl said, breathlessly.

"I'm terribly complicated," Draco said, not moving. "And we're being observed."

Harry didn't back away, either, but she lowered her voice. "Won't you get in trouble for being with me?"

"Who can say? I don't particularly care."

"Draco, why should Blaise be scared of me?" she asked, leaning into his chest.

"Hmm," he replied, trailing one finger over her jaw line. "I wonder. You've only managed to elude death by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in spectacular fashion on more than one occasion. I'm not sure why Blaise, whose family counts many supporters of the Dark Lord among its branches, might be afraid of getting tangled up in yours, no matter how verdant they may be."

"Is Blaise planning to take the Mark, Draco?" Harry asked sharply, pulling away from him.

"Potter, that's _not_ the sort of question one asks in polite society."

"However, 'polite society' also refrains from hiding itself on darkened balconies with the innocent and heroic," a smooth and softly mocking voice carried over the sound of the throng from the doorway.

"Good evening, Father. I didn't realize you'd yet arrived."

"Son," Lucius Malfoy acknowledged, favoring the boy with a hooded look. "And Miss Potter," he said, walking forward to take the girl's hand and turning it to expose her palm. "A pleasure, as always."

When Lucius kissed her hand, a liquid shock seemed to roll from the hollow of her palm to areas of her body of which she was still uncomfortable acknowledging being in possession. She liked it.

_No! No, don't let him affect you with a wizard's trick._

"Clearly you've been . . . neglected of late, young lady," Lucius said in response to Harry's involuntary moan. "We will have to see if there is anything I might do to remedy that situation. I know you must feel the loss of Draco at Hogwarts _deeply_."

In as steady a voice as Harry could manage, she replied, "We all miss Draco very much. _Quidditch_ isn't nearly as challenging."

"But what is this I hear about Mr. Zabini?"

"Sir?" Harry asked in pretended confusion.

"You have no interest in the boy after my son, is that correct? He's a fine lad from a good family . . . ."

 _Don't flirt, don't flirt, don't flirt_ . . . Draco willed.

 _But what other choice do I have_? Harry thought back at him, even though she knew he would not hear. _You set the rules_. "I think I prefer French to Italian, Monsieur Malfoy."

"We have an accomplished chef at the manor. Perhaps you'll soon have occasion to visit there and sample some of the family's more . . . sophisticated fare."

"And wouldn't _that_ be an improvement over my cuisine of late?" Harry responded, almost visibly ecstatic to see Charlie Weasley rapidly approaching the balcony.

Before Lucius could reply, Charlie was there. "Good evening, gentleman, lady," he said, taking Harry's hand firmly in his own. "It's criminal of the two of you to keep everyone's favorite person outside on the night of her first Ministry affair."

Draco looked relieved and angry at once, but Lucius was simply amused. "Come to save her, Mr. . . . Weasley?" asked Lucius with faint scorn.

"I've come to steal her away from you . . . Sir," said Charlie with a cut-crystal edge to his tone that conveyed his checked malice and supreme confidence.

 _He isn't afraid of him at all_ , Harry thought. "Mr. Malfoy—Draco—it looks as if we'll have to continue this discussion another time. Have a lovely evening, and . . . _thank you_ ," she said to Draco, making a darting gesture with her hand toward where the boy had secreted his gift before walking away.

When they had returned to the ballroom and begun dancing, Harry informed Charlie that he was an idiot. He laughed.

"I tame dragons for a living, Harry—or do you prefer 'Ree' now?"

"Oh, um, Ree, I guess."

"Good. It suits you."

"You really think so?" Harry asked, beginning to feel warm.

"Oh, yes. 'Ree' sounds like water rushing over smooth stones. I imagine that if I were to run my hands through your hair, it would feel very much the way your name runs over my tongue."

"My hair?" _He likes my hair_! "Are you _flirting_ with me, Charlie Weasley?"

"It's kind of you to notice, Miss Potter."

"Ron will kill you! I'm his best friend!"

Charlie laughed. "Do _you_ mind it that I'm flirting with you?"

Harry blushed. _Is this what girls do_ all _of the time_? she asked herself, though not quite as vehemently as usual. "No."

"Tremendous! Then let's not worry about ol' Ronnie. He's young, stupid, and couldn't catch me by broomstick if his life depended on it!"

"Watch yourself—'Weasley is our king'!"

"Yeah?" he asked, staring into her eyes. "That's really good news, Your Majesty."

 _Oh_.


	9. Chapter Eight: Compliments and Courtship

Charlie had taken Harry to the ball, Charlie had brought her home.

_And now, he's dancing with her_ , Snape thought irritably. 

He had eaten far too many Christmas cookies with Albus, and drunk not quite enough whiskey with Sirius of all people while awaiting Harry's return. Now, all he wanted to do was find a moment to talk to the girl alone, so that he could discover what had occurred before taking his leave of the company and the oppressive holiday cheer.

When Ginny Weasley collected her brother for a dance, Snape thought he saw his moment, only to have _another_ Weasley interfere in his plans. Ron whispered something to Harry, and they slid out of the room. Snape noticed that Hermione had observed her friends' exchange. She did not look pleased. 

_Well, who couldn't have seen_ that _coming_? Severus thought bitterly.

~*~

"So, yeah . . . um, well—"

"Spit it out, Ron!" Harry, said, exasperated. 

"Give us a minute," the boy said. He took a breath and let it out. "Okay, well, it's like this, Harry . . . . You see, I know that I've been a bit of a git since the Change and all—"

"You don't have to apologi—"

"I'm not. _Good grief_ , Harry, You changed into a girl—from a boy! I'm _not_ sorry it was a shock." Ron held up his hand to prevent interruption. "The thing is, though, that you really haven't changed who you are, and you're my friend, and I wanted to show you that, um . . . well . . . _here_!" he said, giving Harry a small package wrapped in sky blue paper.

When Harry did not immediately open his gift, Ron said, "Go on, it won't bite. Happy Christmas."

"Thanks, Ron." Harry sat down on the bench in the foyer, and then opened his present. A small blue box was inside the paper, and it opened to reveal a flared bottle of deeper blue.

"You got me a potion for Christmas?"

"No! It's from Madame Rosmerta. I found out from Fred'n'George that she brews rinses and teas and other useful things . . . for girls, mostly. This is for girls—that's the point, really. I wanted you to know that it was okay with me—the girl thing—I mean."

Carefully, Harry un-stoppered the bottle. The not-a-potion smelled like rain and salt. "What does it do?"

Ron blushed furiously. "It's a hair rinse. It'll help it grow."

"Oh, Ron!" 

Neither of them noticed the twins dangling a long pink line just above their unsuspecting heads as they shared a hug.

"We should really try and develop Extendable Ears that record," George told his brother. "Those'd really fly off the shelves!"

"OW!" yelled Fred, turning to find Mr. Weasley behind them, hand out.

"No, brother, we need to develop a way of seeing out the back of our heads."

Mercifully, by the time they reached the foyer, Ron and Harry had rejoined the party.

~*~

"Having fun?" Sirius asked Harry, who was sitting out a dance for once later in the evening.

"I am, but I really need to buy better shoes. I mean, you couldn't really run in these if you had to."

"Girls aren't generally supposed to run in formal dress, Harry."

"Well, if the attack comes and you're _in_ formal dress—"

"Your gentleman is supposed to step in and save you," Sirius finished, eyes twinkling.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard! All the girls _I_ know wouldn't wait for a 'gentleman' to save them!"

"Here, here, Ree," Professor Dumbledore toasted her from across the room.

"There, you see? Besides . . . I don't have a gentleman," she said faintly.

"Perhaps not now, but you do have a godfather. And he wouldn't mind dancing with you in your bare feet."

Harry smiled, slipped off the offending shoes, and took Sirius' hand. She allowed him to lead her to the center of the cleared and decorated parlor, which Mrs. Weasley had stretched a bit to accommodate everyone dancing in it.

"Oh, Harry, you look so very much like Lily," Molly said, her eyes shining.

"I shouldn't think so," Snape's voice carried over the music, though he had not shouted.

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Sirius, spinning on the Potions master.

"Simply that Miss Potter looks exactly like herself, and no other, though I will admit that she possesses a liberal portion of Lily Evans' grace and wit."

"That's Lily _Potter_ ," Sirius insisted.

Remus materialized at his lover's side and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"As you say," Snape said, inclining his head a fraction.

"Excuse me," Harry told Sirius, stepping out of the protective circle of his arms.

The room began to quiet, but then Arthur Weasley picked up his glass and said, "To Lily and James Potter."

Everyone, including Snape, responded to the toast, and, as Dumbledore began a rather long one, Severus slid out of the room after Harry.

~*~

He found the young woman on the library balcony, rubbing her arms. She had abandoned her robe earlier during the heat of the dancing. Severus removed his long coat, which he had unbuttoned in deference to the warmth of the rooms, but not removed, and draped it around her shoulders. Harry started.

"Constant vigilance, Potter."

Harry shuddered. "It's not always as easy as you make it seem, Professor Snape." She turned to face him. "You can't prepare for every eventuality, can you?"

Based on her life to date, she made an excellent point. Snape considered Harry closely. Her eyes, which were quite her own, shined like wells of unshed crystals in the starlight. _Right, I'm not drinking another drop this night_. He shook his head. "I did not mean to offend you, Harry."

They were standing close enough that Harry could feel the draw of Snape's body, and she did not entirely mind; her feelings did not confuse her as they had when Lucius Malfoy had pulled that electric thrill of lust from her. No, Severus felt familiar if not entirely safe. Lucius felt like . . . _an evil, seductive git_. She wondered if sexual attraction would have been such a problematic subject had she still been a boy. Harry honestly didn't know; it was becoming more difficult to remember herself as a boy. She wondered when she had accepted that she would never be one again.

"Miss Potter?" Snape prompted. "I . . . apologize if my comments were . . . unwelcome."

"It _must_ be Christmas," Harry said, smiling at him. 

Immediately, she felt her comment might have been too bold; the professor did not like to be teased, after all, but a faint look of . . . pleasure overspread his features, so Harry pressed on. 

"Your comments weren't unwelcome, just surprising. You're not someone from whom I would have expected—what's the word Hermione is always using? Oh, yes— _chivalry_."

"Surely you've become used to compliments a little in recent months?"

"I think you're a fine, brave man who has more mastery over his own will than anyone I've ever met," Harry said suddenly and inexplicably.

Snape just stared at her.

Harry giggled. "Well, I think perhaps I won't drink so much butter beer at the next celebration, but you see what I mean, don't you? It's not at all easy to take a compliment."

"Ah, you meant that as an object lesson."

Harry's face softened in understanding. "I don't say things I don't mean, Professor Snape."

"You didn't believe me, either."

"I did. That's why I had to leave the room." Harry looked down, and mumbled something.

Severus lifted her chin with his finger. "What was that?"

"It's important to me now. . . that you think well of me. I'd like to think . . . ."

"You'd like to think what?" Severus asked, telling himself to end the conversation immediately, but deciding not to do so. 

No one ever sought his good opinion, and he certainly would never have expected _Harry Potter_ to want it—not after what his early behavior toward her had been. It was an indulgence, but this _was_ a holiday, and he intended to have the entirety of his . . . compliment.

"I'd like to think that after working together, after living together, you didn't just see me as a coddled brat anymore. I mean, we do know each other now, _some_ , and I—"

The soft, warm pressure of a fingertip against her lips stopped Harry speaking.

_You are_ drunk, _man. Go back into the house_! 

But it was all too easy to forget, standing on this balcony under a canopy of flickering stars with a beautiful girl who wasn't horrified by him, that she was his student, his charge, his _responsibility_. For a moment, all Severus felt was a rush of acceptance, gratitude, and something too new to name. He had no idea what he was doing, but his head was bending down, and her head was falling back, and their eyes were locked on each other's mouths.

But before they could seal their embrace, Harry's eyes rounded wildly and her face went white. She staggered forward against Severus and clutched at her neck. The chain she was wearing had begun to sink into her flesh, and blood welled up from around it.

" _DRACO_!" the girl screamed, falling to her knees.

The strains of music abruptly stopped filtering out of the house, and Severus did not notice when people rushed onto the balcony, occupied as he was with frantically attempting to remove the chain.

Sirius tried to grab Snape, but his goddaughter waved an apparently uncontrolled hand in his direction, causing him to be thrown back into Dumbledore. The old wizard looked shocked, but bade everyone not to interfere.

" _DRACO_ ," Harry shrieked again, and then her head snapped up, eyes open and glowing with a faintly golden light. She looked at Snape, and said, "Pour sauver le dragon, allez à lui maintenant! Pour sauver le dragon, allez à lui maintenant!"

"J'accepte votre charge. Libérez le messager," he told her. "Libérez le messager!"

The light faded from Harry's eyes, and she would have collapsed onto the tiles of the balcony, save Severus caught her. The chain dissolved around Harry's neck and ran down her bosom, gold droplets mixing with the red ones of her blood.

"Arrêtez le saignement avec le baume chokeberry et de cendre!" Snape ordered Sirius, placing the girl into her godfather's arms and turning to run through the doors into the house.


	10. Chapter Nine: Render Unto Caesar . . .

Surveying the scene in Lucius' bedroom, Severus knew that it was too late for chokeberry and ash balm to be of any use to the elder Malfoy. He lay, white and not-quite-perfect, on a scarlet coverlet that had once shone of silver threads. The deep rents in his body were encrusted with dried blood. His son Severus found huddled next to the dying embers in his father's baronial fireplace, so filthy as to be almost unrecognizable from the soot-stained stones against which he pressed his bare body. Snape could not immediately discern any injury to the boy, who clutched an ancient dragon's claw blade set in a hilt of obsidian wood. Severus knew the blade. Lucius used it for certain . . . ceremonies, rites over which it seemed le seigneur du Manoir de Malfoy would no longer be presiding.

"Draco, do you know me?"

The boy made no movement other than to gasp out shallow breaths. Severus walked as close to the boy as he dared, knowing that Draco was in shock, and not wishing to startle him into rash action.

"Draco, it's Severus. Can you hear me?"

"No, no, no, no, no . . . ," the boy keened low in the back of his throat.

"May I take this from you?" Severus asked, placing a tentative hand on the sanguineous blade.

The boy's hand tightened on the hilt of his knife, and he rolled a murderous eye toward Snape's face.

"I will not hurt you, child."

"Fool," Draco spat through bloodied teeth. "Think you I'm a child any longer?"

The older man removed his hand from the weapon. "Forgive me. Of course you're not—"

"Pretty golden fleece to be hung about the neck—did you think that would keep me safe?"

Severus didn't know what to say.

Draco laughed in the face of his would-be-protector's confusion. 

"Why? Why did you give the charm to Harry?"

"She has no birthright to protect her—not like I do," Draco said, thrusting out his right arm so that Snape could see the Dark Mark. The edges of it burned with an eldritch glow. "My father's final duty to his _master_."

It was all Severus could do not to stagger under the weight of the sudden anguish that imbrued his heart, every beat of which threatened to pull a scream of pain from his dry lips. _I've failed him. By all the gods, I've failed him in the only way that mattered_. "Draco how . . . _when_ did this happen?" 

"Potter, she's just a walking wound seeping wasted power, isn't she? And Daddy wanted her. Daddy wanted her, but she's already _mine_. . . . I told him so, but Father _will_ take what he wants. Do you think he's content to be the lapdog of some crazed half-breed wizard? Who kept them together, the cowards, after Voldemort's supposed destruction? Who laid plans for the future of our kind? . . . Lucius Malfoy is no man's slave!"

"Lucius Malfoy is no man any longer, Draco. You killed him."

The boy laughed; it was the sound of rusting hinges swinging on crumbling metal doors. 

"Yes, yes—oh, _poor_ Daddy. He asked for my obedience one too many times, didn't he? It just wasn't enough, burning and cutting this filth into my arm so that the Dark Lord wouldn't suspect him of treachery. Why wasn't it enough? _Why_ couldn't he just have loved me as his _son_?"

 _Merlin preserve this boy, for I cannot_ , Severus thought. _I have no answers for him_.

"That is quite enough, my darling son," a crystalline voice cut through the echoes of Draco's lament and Severus' silent plea.

"Narcissa," Snape said, turning.

"Severus," she acknowledged him, flicking her left wrist once toward her son and calling to herself without spell or wand the heirloom with which her son had butchered her husband. "It is unfortunate that you find us thus."

"Indeed."

"The murder of my husband by his faithless friend—I fear that the Ministry will be compelled to investigate—and I would not wish the circumstances to . . . inconvenience you," the witch said, smiling at the flicker of distaste that crossed Snape's features. "Goyle," she called over her shoulder.

The gross figure of Goyle lumbered into the room.

"Is it done?"

"Yes, just as you requested."

"I'm well pleased to hear that," Narcissa purred at the man.

"What steps have you taken?" Snape asked, hoping to appear unruffled, feeling desperate in his need to help Draco.

"Terrible, how jealousy twists a man," Goyle opined. "It's never been a secret that Crabbe has always desired those things that were beyond his reach," he said, favoring Narcissa with a heavy lidded gaze.

"And I am most grateful that you were able to kill the man before he harmed me or my son after he murdered my beloved husband," the Widow Malfoy finished for her henchman. "I fear, however, that certain parties will be dismayed not to have the testimony of one who was most certainly the servant of Lord Voldemort."

Draco's low laughter interrupted this civilized exchange.

His mother turned her leveling gaze on him. "But one moment, dearest, and I'll have you mended and clean and warm."

The boy went quite still.

"We need to get Draco medical attention," Snape attempted.

"I shall handle those arrangements myself, Severus," Narcissa told him. "It would, perhaps, be best if you returned to your latest charge. I'm sure our lord continues in his desire that she be left to your devices."

Severus knew it was stupid to take such a risk, but he couldn't help himself. He turned back to Draco. 

"Do you wish me to stay?"

"Mother told you to go, Severus," the boy said in a reasonably firm and final tone. 

"I am, _of course_ , touched by your concern for Draco. When he has recovered from the shock of this night, you must return to visit with him. He depends so much upon you, as well you know."

Snape sighed and faced Narcissa. _Bloodless bitch_. "Your strength shall be the greatest testimony to your husband's life, 'Cissa. Promise me that you will send for me immediately should you have any needs with which _I_ might assist you."

Severus ignored how Goyle's sly smile faded into bitterness at his offer.

"I can assure you of _that_ . . . old friend."


	11. Chapter Ten: Angel of the House

_Narcissa Malfoy was not herself_ , Severus thought as he stood in front of the tap of the Three Broomsticks. The establishment was closed, but he and Rosmerta had an understanding with regard to his unusual flooing activities. Snape's part of their deal had always been to provide the witch with myriad potion-making ingredients that were operose in their collection—the Ministry _did_ tend to raise its institutional eyebrow when a barkeep visited her local apothecary for deadly extracts. Rosmerta's side business was not exclusively centered around the beautification of young women, and she, and her customers, prized their privacy highly.

"May I fix you a drink?" the witch asked.

"No."

"A medicinal draught, then?"

"That will not be necessary, Merta."

"Russ, don't argue with me. You know you won't win," the enigmatic witch said in her somnifacient fashion. "You've never won one of our . . . debates about the state of your health, or your . . . needs, have you?"

She placed a steaming amber-colored mug on a table near the Potions master, and gestured for him to sit down. Severus did so. Rosmerta joined him, but did not speak.

"I'm not thirsty," he told her.

"I don't care."

"I'm not drinking this."

"Yes, you are."

"What is it?"

"Something for shock."

"As you can see, I'm perfectly comp—"

"Composed? No, I think not. You are, my dear Severus, in pain. You are so very shocked that the events of this night have not yet formed a coherent pattern in your head. You are sad. You are angry. You are," she said, leaning close enough to Severus that he could feel her breath warm his lips and her flesh cool his brow, "most thoroughly _dis_ composed."

"I've never particularly liked you," Snape said, turning his cheek to caress Rosmerta's face with it.

"No, you haven't. I've always rather fancied you, though," she responded, breathing in his scent, and then settling slowly back into her chair. "Tell me what happened."

"Lucius Malfoy is dead."

"Excellent."

"No, he Marked Draco."

"In more ways than one?"

"Yes."

"And how is dear Narcissa handling her family's crisis?"

"It was better to think her decorative . . . ."

"And what do you think of her now?"

"She is rather more vicious than Lucius ever was."

"Perhaps. Does she need killing?"

"I don't know."

"And that is why you smell of fear, isn't it? Because you don't know what to make of Lucius' silly little bride anymore? And because you cannot help Draco?"

"I have failed him, Rosmerta."

"I disagree. He was never yours _to_ fail."

"But there is another, and I just, I _can't_."

"Drink."

Severus drank.

"'Russ, she's too young for you now. Push her away. Be her teacher. Learn to be her friend. But by all that Merlin cherished, don't yet love her. If you cannot suspend your desire, then come to me."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

" _Nox_ ," Rosmerta said, rising from the table.

~*~

" _Flamma_ ," Severus said in a low voice as he walked into his sitting room several hours later. The soft glow from the candles on the mantle illuminated Harry's sleeping form. She was still dressed in her finery, and, as always when she slept, was wearing a look of disquietude.

Snape had left Rosmerta's and gone immediately to Order headquarters where he had discovered that Harry had refused to allow anyone to touch her when she had become conscious. She had tried to leave the house, screaming that Draco was being tortured and in need of their help, and had been restrained, sedated, and treated. Molly and Hermione had settled her into bed, and left her to rest. When Sirius had gone to check in on her about thirty minutes later, however, he had found a note: "I've gone home. Don't follow me."

Severus could only imagine how much the brief epistle had hurt Black, but he took no pleasure from the knowledge.

"Home," he whispered.

"What? Pro—"

"I said," Severus told Harry as he bent to pick her up, "that I'm home, and you should be resting."

"Draco—tell me what happened to Draco," she said, struggling to look at him.

"He's alive, if not entirely well." Snape said as he laid Harry on her bed, spelled a candle to light, and then sat down next to her. Without thinking, he began to smooth her hair out of her face.

She did not resist. 

_She trusts you entirely too much_. "Lucius Malfoy is dead. He attacked and Marked his son, and Draco killed him. Narcissa Malfoy and Gregory Goyle are blaming Vincent Crabbe for Lucius' murder. Crabbe is dead, as well, at Goyle's hands. I expect that Draco will be sent back to Durmstrang immediately after the funeral rites. Narcissa believes appearances to be vastly important, and she would not wish her son to seem weak."

"What a bloodless bitch," Harry spat.

Severus' hand froze in Harry's hair. After a moment, she reached for it and pressed it reassuringly.

"Are you okay, Professor?"

 _Professor_. "Yes, Harry. Quite. You need your rest," he told her, standing up.

"Wait, please. Isn't there anything that I can do for Draco? He must be so . . . he must need . . . ."

"If you write to him, I'll be certain he receives your letter."

"Merlin's blood—Draco's is spilt, and all I can do is _write_ to him? Draco is raped by that monster of a father, and all you can suggest is that I spill ink across parchment?"

"I would have thought," Snape said, voice icy with the first freezings of anger, "that you'd have been more concerned with Draco's having been forced to take the Mark."

Harry said nothing.

"Potter?"

"Draco was always going to take the Mark, Professor Snape."

"What?"

"I knew he was going to take the Dark Mark. He wrote to me and told me so near the beginning of the term."

"And you saw fit to tell no one of this?" demanded Severus, suddenly quite prepared to strangle the girl where she lay.

"I did," Harry said simply.

"Mr. Zabini _hardly_ counts—"

"I told Professor Dumbledore."

Severus just stared at her, hatred gnawing at his vitals, though perhaps not entirely for her.

"Draco told me that when he took the Mark, he'd be strong enough to stop it."

"To stop Lucius."

"That's probably what he thought he meant," Harry said, ignoring the tears that were sliding down her cheeks. _Sexual politics. Oh, gods_. "Gods," she said, wrapping her arms around herself and beginning to rock back and forth. "Why did this have to happen to him?"

In the face of her genuine anguish, Snape's rage eased. "You've been injured, too, Harry. That charm was dangerous— _deadly_ , in fact. If I hadn't understood what was happening to you—"

"Please don't tell me that bad things have happened to me, professor. I have friends. I have family. I haven't ever been . . . I'm _untouched_. Compared to what Draco's life has been, _nothing_ has ever happened to me."

Severus considered again, as he was wont to do from time to time, the idea that Albus Dumbledore needed to be killed. The manipulative old bastard had known things might come to this: one boy tattooed in flesh, one boy Marked by blood, and one "boy" stamped by pain. _There she is, finally, your spoiled, selfish, unthinking brat. It never occurred to me that I'd need to protect you from yourself, Harry_ , he thought. _It never occurred to me that you, Draco, and I would share so much amongst us that it would render us utterly unable to comfort each other_. "You should sleep now," was all he could think to say.

Harry considered him for a long, unsettling moment. "Yes, I'm certain that's true. I'll write my letter in the morning, Professor Snape."

 _Good girl_. " _Nox_."


	12. Epilogue

One of Blaise Zabini's particular talents was that he never forgot anything he saw, heard, smelled, or felt. Another was that he was rather brilliant at resealing letters in such a way as to prevent their recipients from knowing that tampering had occurred. Because of this, Blaise found that he was remarkably well informed about the affairs of his family—and his friends. His desire for knowledge sated in this way, Blaise projected an air of circumspection that allowed the people in his life to comfortably rely upon his discretion in several matters, including that of delivering their private correspondence.

Secure in his rooms after returning from the Ministry gala, Blaise reviewed the scene on the balcony in his mind. He shuddered. The look Draco's father had given the boy was not a healthy one. He feared for his friend. Perhaps he could convince his parents to allow Draco to spend a large portion of the holiday at the family estate. He would ask them tomorrow. 

_I wonder what they would think of my inviting Ree_?

Ree. Gods, she was beautiful now—nothing to touch what she had promised to be while still _Harry_ , of course, but Blaise, unlike Draco, did not have any issues with the female figure. _Poor stupid, confused, twisted Draco_ , Blaise thought, bringing to mind the letter he had carried from his friend to Ree months ago:

> _My Dearest Harry,_
> 
> _For you are that to me, aren't you, you wretched girl? Why couldn't you just have died? Why does Salazar plague me with your continued cheerful existence when I'm miserable with the form it has taken? I hate you, I hate you, I hate you for being alive when I can't love you!_
> 
> _I apologize. That was uncalled for. I did attempt to write this letter without that sort of beginning, but I'm almost out of parchment, and Blaise's owl, Teiresias, is becoming impatient to leave._
> 
> _So, you've been hiding in the dungeons with the good professor, have you? That won't do. You'll lose that lovely bloom of yours. Gryffindor will have a disastrous Quidditch season. Ronald Weasley might start fawning over someone else. And people will talk—just where has oily old Sevvie been dripping his grease, hmm?_
> 
> _Feeling better, now, are we? I knew you'd throw the letter away. I knew you'd pick it up again, as well. So honorable—seeing everything through to the end. So predictable. That is what will get you killed one day, Potter. A little instability never killed anyone, I always say._
> 
> _You need to get up off of your arse, now, Harriet. You're no coward. You're the pompous heroine who must needs do good, remember? I'm the evil git who's planning to ally himself with the most powerful wizard of our time and seize control of his life. If you allow your skills to suffer through disuse, how in Merlin's name will you be prepared to kill me when the time comes?_
> 
> _Because if you can't kiss me, you know you'll end up killing me one day, don't you? We're not friends. We're not lovers. We're nothing to each other but pain. Don't you want to end your suffering? Hmm? Don't you want to see me writhing under Cruciatus before you tire of me and throw the A.K.? I think you do. Oh, you'll never admit to yourself that you hate me, but Nobility will urge your hand when the time comes; it's exceedingly reliable._
> 
> _Yes, I'm aware that I'm being a prat. It's tremendously gratifying to be able to indulge one's bad behavior in the safety of the darkest enclave of spoilt would-be lordlings ever built. Karkaroff is in possession of no small supply of personal power, of course, but he's crippled by fear of Voldemort—and he's also terrified of my father. Wise man, Karkaroff. You would be disgusted to see how the man toadies to me. I'm sickened by it, myself, though I accept my fill of his flattery. It's certainly better than what I'm used to at home._
> 
> _And the students here accord me a cracking amount of respect. That's new. I like it. I want more. When I take the Dark Mark, I'll have it. But no, Potter, servile companions aren't enough to make me want to bind myself to Tom Riddle. I think that Daddy is going to make his master angry one day, one day soon, and when he does, Lord Voldemort will need someone he can trust. I will be that someone. And I will offer you to him._
> 
> _What do you think of your life-debt now?_
> 
> _Don't worry, my love. I won't give you to him. I'll give myself, and get rid of the traitor, and then I'll be able to protect us both. Then I might even be able to restore you. Would you like that? or have you resigned yourself to a stiff upper lip? In any case, you asked me to tell you, and finally, I can:_
> 
> _I will take the Mark, Harry. I will join Voldemort. I will kill my father. I will stop this. I will make everything right again. When I have the power, when I have the power, I will make it right again._
> 
> _So there you are. I have a reason to live, now. Power. I expect that you're still thinking of one that doesn't include needing to discharge your debt to me. Well, all I can tell you is what I learned at home, to wit, that if you want to survive, you'll find a reason to live without actually having one. Just be, Harry. Just be—and get the hell out of the dungeons—please._
> 
> _I can't stand to think of you feeling as sad and as lonely as I do. Your face is meant for smiles. You're supposed to be happy. You're supposed to be perfect._
> 
> _You belong to me, now, so do what I tell you, all right?_
> 
> _I miss you._
> 
> _I miss you so much that I wish you were dead._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Draco_

"Well, my friend," Blaise whispered, thinking of Draco, "I _won't_ be taking the Dark Mark. And it won't be Ree who kills you when the time comes."

The young man rolled over onto his stomach and propped his face up onto his hands in contemplation. He remembered Ree's words to Draco on the subject of his courting her: _"What kind of spineless twit is he to send you in his place?"_

"She has a point," Blaise told himself. "I expect I'll just have to begin stiffening my spine, won't I?" _Because I'm not going to allow my family to do to me what yours has done to you, Draco. I will be bound to no man in the ways you find yourself caught._

"I will not be a slave to fear. I will not allow it to drive my actions."

_I am not weak._

"No, I am just helplessly in love with two people who don't want me and never will."

Blaise twisted around violently on the bed to stare at the ceiling. He laughed. "At least one of us is having a normal childhood," he forced out through the contractions of his diaphragm.

 _I'm the_ normal _one. Oh, gods, it really is as bad as that, is it_?

Boredom, weakness, normalcy—against these conditions Blaise found himself prepared to battle unto his dying breath. He was not yet certain if he should add love to the list.

And then he remembered why he had sought the privacy of his rooms to begin with. _Professor Snape will be expecting his letter, won't he_? Blaise thought, rising from his bed and shaking off the sleep that had been seeping into him so peacefully.

For though Blaise would not be Fear's slave, he would maintain a salutiferous respect for its main representative in his life.


End file.
